


Warrior Son

by Morgyn Leri (morgynleri)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Don’t copy to another site, GFY, Gen, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19428013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgynleri/pseuds/Morgyn%20Leri
Summary: Boromir clings to the world when he dies, and is given a chance to live again in another time. To forge a new path free of the oaths and expectations of others that he has borne all his years.He finds himself with the chance to follow a king he knew only as a legend of his childhood, and takes to it with all the determination that carried him through his duties before.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flamethrower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/gifts).



Gondor's son slips on mists and the tide from Anduin's flood to the waves, wandering beyond the shores of his people on the bent seas. There he is seen and welcomed by the mighty lord of the waters, with murmured words.

_Great-son of sunken Numenor, why do you forbear to go in the wake of your forefathers beyond the ken of the world? What bonds would keep you with your broken body and shattered sword that have been entrusted to me?_

To this he gives no answer, for his shade speaks not but that his death has not earned him rest. More listen than only the lord of the waters, and rough hands direct a kinder fate. One brings the ship softly ashore where gray light holds sway, the other mends rent flesh and shattered steel, that breath begins anew and heart beats once more.

_Walk the lands again, oh warrior son, and make for yourself a new destiny._


	2. Making the Acquaintence of Mr. Bilbo Baggins

Boromir retreats to the room he's taken at the Green Dragon, sitting on the edge of the two beds that have been pushed together to make something he can sleep on, and resting his arms upon his knees as he stares at the wall. The youth in Bilbo's face, by comparison to the old hobbit he remembers from Rivendell, is startling, and more so is the innocence, the lack of sorrow about him. Could it be Bilbo has yet to travel on his journey into the East, the quest upon which he had acquired the Ring from wretched Gollum?

He blinks once, drawing in a swift breath as another thought follows on the heels of the first. If this is before that quest, then the dwarven king that Gimli had spoken of in the reverent tones reserved for a legend still lives, not yet felled by orcs at the feet of his own home. Thorin Oakenshield, whose story had traveled even to Gondor, where Boromir had avidly listened to a dwarven merchant tell of him, when he could escape to the markets. The sort of hero and king that Boromir had built up an idea about what king might return to Gondor - and who Aragorn had at first fallen short of, because who could live up to a child's hero of legend?

A quiet laugh escapes him, and Boromir curls one corner of his mouth up in a small smile. Aragorn must be a small child now, living in Rivendell. He perhaps might have met Thorin, and Boromir cannot imagine but that Thorin made an impression on Aragorn then. A king to aspire to be, that Aragorn would later emulate, and it took too long for Boromir to see that beyond the whispers and shadows of the Ring.

But if this is indeed before that quest, than Thorin will come through Hobbiton, will be at Bag End, perhaps even as soon as tonight. A chance to meet that hero that Boromir had always wished to meet, though he had known he could not.

A knock on the door startles him from his thoughts, and Boromir smiles to himself as the hobbit on the other side - for here, there are none who are not hobbits, save a few travelers from time to time - speaks. "The Missus said to remind you that tea is at four, and dinner is promptly at seven, and you'll need to come fetch your own if you'll not be eating in the tap room."

"Thank you, young master Hob." Boromir isn't certain if it would be rude to go find Bag End and visit Bilbo for tea, but he knows it would be rude to show up uninvited for dinner. It hasn't been so terribly long since he heard the tale of the dwarves arriving so rudely to Bilbo's home. It might, indeed, be best if he waited until tomorrow to visit, and to do so in the morning.

* * *

It doesn't take long for Boromir to find Bag End, with Bilbo outside smoking a pipe on a bench. A quiet morning, and Boromir is reluctant to break that peace, though he knows Gandalf will do so himself well enough - when, though, he does not know. Not yesterday, or he'd not have found Bilbo here, and not today, as Boromir has not seen the wizard while walking here from the Green Dragon.

"Good morning." He finally breaks the quiet, smiling a little when Bilbo starts. "I was told I could find a Mister Baggins here."

"I am Bilbo Baggins. Do I know you?" Bilbo frowns, studying Boromir intently, though Boromir knows there will be nothing to recognize in his face. Bilbo has not yet met him, as they will again in Rivendell, a lifetime of men in the future.

"I do not believe we have met before, Mister Baggins, though we have a friend in common." True, in a sense, for all that none of the hobbits which Boromir had traveled with are yet born. "I was told if I was ever in the Shire, I could do worse than to be invited to tea at Bag End, by Mr. Baggins of that address."

"Oh." Blinking, Bilbo looks over Boromir again, a smile crossing his face briefly. "Well, tea is at four, and I would appreciate the tale of how you came to hear of me."

Perhaps, too, some tales of Boromir's travels, to learn of the world beyond the Shire that he has yet only seen in maps and books, if Boromir reads the hint of wistfulness in Bilbo's voice right. He can think of many to tell him, though some will have to be kept secret - he does not know what telling of the Ring and the quest to destroy it would do, and that must yet be kept secret that it not be overheard by agents of Sauron. It will do no harm to tell of his deeds in battle, though, nor to speak of a journey with hobbits, of Merry and Pippin, though perhaps not of Frodo nor of Sam.

"What I can tell of it, I shall speak of." Boromir smiles, drawing an echo of the same from Bilbo. "Until then, Mr. Baggins."

"Good morning, then."

Boromir can feel Bilbo watching him as he walks away, and imagines the hobbit is terribly curious what brings a Man to his door when he has yet to step outside the bounds of the Shire. A story that Boromir does not know the whole of, most especially that which fell between his death on Amon Hen, and his waking whole as the swan boat in which he lay scraped against sand on an unfamiliar shore.

His morning is spent exploring some bit of the Shire, before he returns to the Green Dragon to inquire after a bath, and laundering his clothes, though he has only those which he wears until he has a chance to speak with a seamstress who is acustomed to making clothes for Men. He is directed to a back room with copper kettles and tubs for the former, and told he might wash his own clothes there, or leave them outside the door for the laundry girl.

It won't be the first time he's cleaned his own clothes, and Boromir tends to them first, hanging them from a line which stretches across the room that they might at least begin to dry while he bathes.

There are new scars on his body since his wakening to renewed life, small ones where arrows had pierced him littering his body, and he touches the one just to the right of his breastbone. A reminder of the failure he'd given his life to amend, though he had not, in the end, saved even Merry and Pippin. Nor shall he live long enough this time to know their fate, whatever path he walks.

Snorting quietly, Boromir reaches for the soap he'd bought in the market the day before, cleaning the grime of the road from his skin. Perhaps he shall not live to know what fate they might have had after he had died, but he shall do what he can for Bilbo, and for the quest which will bring Isildur's Bane to light, for all that it might be long years after this that it would be known as such.

Or not as long, if Boromir can find some manner of convincing Bilbo that the Ring is the evil that he knows it to be, when the hobbit finds it. Then perhaps once this quest is complete, and the dwarves once more have their home - and Thorin has the crown and throne he will have taken back - Boromir can find some means to remove the Ring to its birth place, where it can be destroyed.

He shivers despite the pleasant heat of the water, ducking down to rinse away the soap. What will the Ring do to him this time, when he is near to its influence? How will it try to entice him when all that it spoke to him last time is moot?

Shaking his head, Boromir finishes his bath swiftly, pulling the cork stopper from the base of the tub to allow the water to drain down the center of the room. Wrapping himself in his cloak, he takes the clothes to be passed outside to hang on the line in the sun, and retreats to his room while he waits for the shirt and trews to be dry.

* * *

"Who did you say mentioned tea at Bag End?" Bilbo sets a small plate of sweet cakes next to the cup of tea he's served Boromir, before settling into the chair next to the fire.

"I didn't." Boromir smiles, taking a sip of his tea. It's not one that he's encountered at home, but a distinctly northern drink that lacks the bitterness the drink has in Gondor. "Merry was all the name I knew of him, and I have not seen him since we were parted by trouble." He won't lie and call the trouble anything but orcs if pressed, but for now, there's no need to mention exactly what the trouble is.

Bilbo grimaces a little, but does not ask what sort of trouble, at least. "I don't recall a Merry among my acquaintences, unfortunately. Are you quite sure your friend meant to send you here?"

"He never meant to send me anywhere, just spoke often of home, and all the good things the Shire holds. Usually when no one else was paying attention to meals beyond breakfast and supper, with dinner eaten as we traveled." Of all the hobbits, Merry and Pippin had most often loudly - if good-naturedly - complained about missing meals. Boromir would have to remember to purchase extra supplies of food - and perhaps an extra pony or two - before he volunteered to join the quest.

"Hmm." Bilbo sips at his tea, watching Boromir for a long moment. "What was your name again?"

"I am Boromir of Gondor." If no longer her Captain-General, nor the son of her Steward. Ecthelion would yet be the former, and Turgon the latter.

"What brings a Man of Gondor where he encounters a hobbit?" Bilbo is watching Boromir with a skeptical expression, bordering on suspicious.

"I came north seeking answers to troubling dreams from the Lord of Imladris. For a while after, I had Merry as a traveling companion." Boromir shrugs, setting his tea aside in favor of taking a sweet cake, dense with oats and sticky with honey. "I do not have a great need to return south and home now, though perhaps in time. For now, I find I am content to spend some time where there is true peace."

As long as he need wait for Thorin to arrive, and give him the chance to volunteer to accompany the dwarves to Erebor.

"There is certainly plenty of peace in the Shire." Bilbo smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You still have not truly explained why you came looking for me."

"Curiosity. I wished to meet the hobbit spoken of so kindly by my friend." To meet the hobbit who would leave the comforts of his home to follow thirteen dwarves into uncertainty for unknown reward. The hobbit who would carry the Ring for so long with so little effect that Boromir had ever noticed, though he'd known little of Bilbo during the time he'd spent in Imladris.

Too, now that he is certain he has been sent to some time before the reclaiming of Erebor, to meet Thorin, and to do what he can to ease the sorrows of the world - and in doing, ease too the burden upon Gondor, that she will flourish once more.

Bilbo takes a sip of his tea, hiding a moment of frustration, and after, doesn't seem inclined to try to pry more answers from Boromir for the moment. He does invite Boromir back for tea again the next day, curious himself, perhaps. It will hopefully be enough to keep an eye on Bilbo until the dwarves arrive.


	3. Carven Marks and Unexpected Dinner Guests

It's little more than a fortnight when Boromir arrives at Bag End for tea - a ritual that he appreciates more for the news he's anticipating than any other reason - to find Bilbo agitated, and suspicious. He doesn't seem to notice the rune on his door when he opens it to let Boromir in, nor mentions what has him troubled while he sets out the tea and cakes.

"Do you know a wizard?" It's rather more blunt a question than Bilbo usually asks when seeking something interesting from Boromir, but the question itself is useful. A sign that Gandalf has been in the Shire, though Boromir hasn't seen or heard anything else to suggest the wizard or the dwarves are present.

"I have met a wizard before, and heard of a second, but I would not say I know one." Boromir raises his eyebrows, giving Bilbo a curious look. "They are strange beings, often given to riddles and cryptic remarks, what little I know of them."

"Hmph." Bilbo wrinkles his nose a moment, a grimace crossing his face. "He threatened to get me involved in an adventure, though I told him I had no need of one. I'm afraid I neglected to point out he could have gone down to the Green Dragon to ask after you, if he wanted to find someone who might be interested in whatever adventure he's arranging."

Boromir takes a sip of tea to avoid telling Bilbo that he's intent on going on the journey to retake Erebor, and thus revealing he knows rather more about what's going on than Bilbo expects him to. "Would it be rude to ask if I might join you for supper?"

Blinking, Bilbo frowns at Boromir. "Why are you asking?"

"Because you have a rune newly carved into your door, and I doubt the wizard would do so unless he intended to cause you trouble sooner rather than later."

"Carved into my door? I just painted it last week!" Bilbo leaves the table, and Boromir picks up one of the cakes while he listens to the door open, then shut again with perhaps a little more force than usual. "Do you know what that rune says? It's not one I've seen in my books."

"I haven't seen it before, but my brother was always more interested in the lore-books than I." Boromir shrugs, picking up his tea again to have something to do with his hands. "I'm curious to see who arrives that might know what it means, and why the wizard thinks you are in need of such an interruption to your life."

Bilbo snorts, smiling a little as he sits back down, taking a sip of his own tea after a moment. "I should like to see Gandalf's expression if he returns to see his mischief, and finds more here than he expects. Do you have anything you particularly enjoy for supper?"

* * *

Boromir uses the rest of the afternoon to procure the supplies he'd had in mind, having secured a pack-pony soon after he'd determined when he was, as well as where. His horse - given him in the Havens along with coin in exchange for the boat and all that it contained beyond that which was his own - had not been entirely certain of the new neighbor in the field, but both have settled to watching each other from either side of the pasture rather than fighting.

"You'll not be idle much longer, Celeg, neither you nor Madge." Boromir rubs the nose of his horse, keeping his voice low as he spoke. "We'll be off tomorrow to the east, though how long you'll prove useful, I do not know. The mountains are not the best place for horses, with orcs and goblins to contend with."

Celeg snorts, nudging at his shoulder.

"I know, first I have to convince Thorin that I wish to sign up for his quest, despite the dragon, and regardless of any reward that might be offered." Boromir watches the road for a long moment, thinking over the packs he has in his room to be loaded onto Madge in the morning. Biscuits that would help keep Bilbo fed on the road, even hard as they are. A sturdy oiled-canvas cloak to keep out water, sized for a hobbit. A few knives he might try to convince Bilbo to learn to use.

His own packs are far slimmer, though there is, at least, one new shirt in there, if in a distinctly hobbit-style rather than one he is more familiar with from home. It had been a pleasant surprise to find a seamstress willing to take up the challenge to make a few clothes for a Man.

Letting out a quiet chuckle, Boromir rubs Celeg's nose once more before heading into the Green Dragon to make use of their bathing room one last time.

* * *

"Supper will be just a moment more, I apologize for the wait." Bilbo sets a salt pot and bowl of lemons - a fruit Boromir is surprised to see so far north, as he does not recall them being a sort that kept well, certainly not enough to pack among army supplies - on the table near the honey-pot. "Fish, with carrots and potatoes and broccoli. Bread is there—," Bilbo looks over the table, and holds up a finger with a small grimace, "—and I've forgotten the butter."

Boromir suppresses a grin as Bilbo shakes his head, hurrying back to the kitchen to fetch the butter, and to check on the fish Boromir can hear sizzling in a pan. He rather hopes the dwarves are as rude now as they had been in the stories he's heard, or he might well miss their arrival if they come in the morning.

Reaching for the bread, he breaks the loaf in half as Bilbo comes back in with two plates with the promised meal. He's only just begun to slather honey on it when the bell rings, making Bilbo close his eyes for a moment.

"I do believe I will have to tell Gandalf it's rude to be an uninvited guest to supper." Bilbo pushes away from the table, waving off Boromir's not-yet-made offer to get the door. "I'll see to this myself, thank you, it is my home after all."

Sitting back in his chair, Boromir takes a bite of his bread as he listens to Bilbo open the door. He hadn't remembered who arrived first, and smiles a bit as he hears, "Dwalin, at your service." If there had been a second hero in his eyes as a child, it was Dwalin, always at the side of his king, defender and brother in all but birth. A hero he'd wanted to live up to, who'd spurred on his defense of Faramir's abilities even in the face of their father's disappointment.

"Bilbo Baggins. At yours. Do we know each other?" There's a pointed reminder in that question that makes Boromir bite back a chuckle. He might not have heard it even a fortnight ago, but there are some things he has picked up about hobbits in that time, and being an unknown, as well as uninvited guest to supper is considered quite rude.

"No." There's a note to Dwalin's voice that Boromir would call incredulous in most, and perhaps disdain in some. "Which way, laddie?" Dwalin clomps down the hallway as he speaks, the clatter of metal coming closer to the dining room where Boromir is sitting. "Is it down here?"

"Is what down where?" Bilbo sounds faintly amused underneath the polite confusion, and Boromir takes another bite of his bread to keep himself from laughing. It wouldn't make a good first impression.

"Supper." The slap of something being tossed to someone follows. "He said there'd be food, and lots of it."

"He... he said?"

Boromir shakes his head, wondering just how Gandalf plans to explain himself when - or if - he arrives on Bilbo's doorstep. Certainly he hadn't been the one to invite dwarves to dinner, and no hobbit would have done so.

A moment later, Dwalin steps into the dining room, and stops to frown at Boromir. "And who are you?"

"Boromir of Gondor, at your service." Boromir inclines his head, though he doesn't get up to bow properly, as he has to duck the ceilings as it is. He glances past Dwalin at Bilbo, who has a politely blank expression on his face. "I can eat later, if necessary, Mr. Baggins. I wouldn't want to deprive you of your dinner simply because of an unexpected guest."

"Oh, no, that's not neccessary." Bilbo shakes his head, waving off Boromir's offer. "You go ahead and eat, I'll just go put this somewhere." He holds up the cloak in his hands, smiling briefly and tightly before he walks away, leaving Dwalin to take his place at the table.

"What is a Man of Gondor doing this far north?" Dwalin gives Boromir a suspicious look as he pulls the plate toward him, though how much of an answer he expects as he digs in, Boromir is uncertain.

"I was traveling." Boromir cuts into his own fish, using a mouth full of food to avoid the need to answer more questions. They eat in silence for a while, Bilbo slipping back in with a plate of rolls that he sets on the table before taking one for himself. At least he won't be left hungry when the dwarves strip his pantry.

Boromir has finished his own meal, and Dwalin is reaching for a roll when the bell rings again.

"I can see who else is disturbing your dinner, Mr. Baggins, if you would like me to." Boromir gives Bilbo a quick smile, and Bilbo hesitates a moment before nodding.

There's a dwarf with snowy white hair and a slightly expectant expression on the other side, who smiles briefly in confusion when he looks up at Boromir. The confusion doesn't last, as he smiles again, and introduces himself with a bow. "Balin, at your service."

"Boromir of Gondor, at yours." Boromir opens the door a little further, shifting to tilt his head in the direction of the dining room. "Mr. Baggins and Dwalin are through there, in the dining room."

He closes the door after Balin steps through with a genuine smile on his face, the short dwarf hurrying toward the dining room while Boromir watches him. He can see the tomb in the back of his mind, cold stone carved with a name and a title and little else. Gimli weeping for his lost cousin, the book with the last moments of the dwarves who had stood around their fallen Lord. He shakes his head slightly, promising himself that there would be no need for the Fellowship finding such a tomb, if that quest comes to pass.

Following behind, Boromir watches as Balin and Dwalin greet each other, Bilbo looking rather disconcerted by it from where he stands beyond them. Worried, perhaps, too, with a second uninvited guest, and not enough dinner laid out for four - and more, though Bilbo isn't yet aware of that.

"Excuse me, but could you possibly explain what you are doing here, in my house?" Bilbo looks between the two dwarves, who look back at him for a long moment as he tries to keep up a polite smile. "It's not that I don't like visitors, I like visitors as much as the next hobbit. But I do like to know them before they come visiting, particularly for supper, and I don't know either of you in the slightest."

"I would have thought Mr. Gandalf would have explained everything already." Balin glances between Bilbo and Boromir a moment.

"He did not, I'm afraid. Not even enough to tell me how many visitors I might expect to arrive." Bilbo smiles again, brief and nervous. "I don't suppose you could tell me that much, at least?"

"There are eleven more, aside from the wizard." Balin looks over the dining room a moment. "I hope you have more chairs than this, and perhaps a slightly larger room?"

The bell rings again before Bilbo has a chance to respond, and Boromir meets Bilbo's gaze over Balin's head.

"If you will pardon me a moment, I'm afraid I shouldn't be so rude to Mr. Boromir as I was by asking him to answer the door in my place." Bilbo doesn't look terribly pleased at all, though he's very careful not to be too demonstrative of that.

"We should see what is in Mr. Baggins' pantry, to make sure there is sufficient food for everyone." Balin gives Boromir a brief, curious look before he moves past him, and Dwalin follows in his wake, the two going deeper into the smial toward the pantry. Boromir watches for a moment before he slips back into the dining room, to start making room for more dwarves at the table.

Soon. Soon he will have the chance to volunteer for the journey, even if Bilbo does not go - he dearly hopes the hobbit does, even as he fears what the journey might bring for Bilbo - and then he shall see if he has skill and knowledge enough to protect Thorin and his nephews from the fate Boromir remembers.


	4. For the Quiet Does Not Last Forever

"You've been no help." Bilbo give Boromir an acid look as he finally corners him near the back door of the smial, the dwarves still loudly making merry over the remains of Bilbo's pantry. There's some left aside, with Thorin still yet to arrive, but there will be nothing for breakfast, save a few scones and a bit of moldy cheese. "I thought you were enjoying some quiet."

Boromir is quiet a moment, watching the hall, and meeting Gandalf's gaze as the wizard ducks out of the dining room. "Quiet does not last, Bilbo. Even in the Shire, where it lasts longer than in most of the world, it cannot last forever. Better that I seek out a new journey than to bring trouble to where I am at, and to people who deserve it not at all."

"Is that why you didn't bother to help keep them from raiding my pantry and worse?"

Gandalf is close enough now to hear anything Boromir might say over the noise of the dwarves.

"I am one Man among twelve dwarves and a wizard, Bilbo. I choose my battles, and this is one I could not win. I can leave some coin to help restock your pantry in the morning, but I cannot stay long." His packing will not take a terribly great amount of time, but it will be long enough Boromir doesn't dare remain once he has the opportunity to offer his aid on the quest.

"And where will you be going from here, Boromir of Gondor?" Gandalf asks the question, his gaze sharp as he looks over Boromir - seeing something more than the others, perhaps, but what is it he sees?

"Wherever the road takes me, Mithrandir. East, if I might." Boromir shrugs, meeting Gandalf's gaze steadily, though he doesn't expand on why he will go with Thorin if he's allowed.

"Hmm." Gandalf frowns, watching Boromir for a moment longer, but he doesn't voice whatever thoughts are in his head.

"Well, I should hope you don't aid in ruining someone else's home after pretending to be a civilized person." Bilbo grimaces, and glares at Gandalf. "As for you, what are these dwarves doing in my home? I'm sure it has something to do with your threatening me with an adventure, and I would like to know just what is going on!"

"Excuse me." One of the dwarves - Ori, if Boromir is remembering the introductions of the lot who'd all arrived at once properly - comes out of the dining room, approaching them carefully. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?"

"At least one of them is polite." Bilbo gives Gandalf and Boromir pointed looks before turning to Ori and opening his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by Fíli.

"Here you go, Ori, give it to me." He snags it from Ori deftly before flinging it down the hall to where Kíli is now standing outside the one wash room.

Boromir takes a half-step backward to stay out of the way, listening and watching as Bilbo starts scolding again, and the dwarves ignore him in favor of tossing around dishes and singing a raucous song. It's barely ended before there's a pounding on the door that draws everyone's attention to the front door.

Drawing in a quiet breath, Boromir ducks through doorways to follow the rest to the front, keeping to one side where he's not likely to be noticed right off, and leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest.

Gandalf is the one to open the door, rather than Bilbo, who is pressed to one side of the way, revealing a dwarf who is taller than most, with dark hair streaked with gray. Boromir holds himself very still, the sense of being in the presence of a King greater than it had been when he'd met Aragorn in Rivendell. Unspoken, but very much there in a way that had not yet been present in Isildur's heir. A King who knew his worth, one raised with the knowledge and expectation of leadership, and though uncrowned, still was more a leader of a people than Aragorn yet had been.

"Gandalf." Thorin had not yet taken his gaze from the wizard holding the door, and does not as he takes the first steps inside. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way. Twice." He glances at the dwarves crowded into the parlor door before reaching to undo the clasp of his cloak. "I would not have found it at all, had it not been for that mark on the door."

A way indeed for the dwarves to find Bag End, and to tell them more than what either Bilbo or Boromir could know.

"One that had not been on my door yesterday, Gandalf." Bilbo pushes from between the dwarves. "Who is this?"

"Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf smiles, closing the door, and putting his back to it, "allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield." He glances at Boromir, and adds, "Boromir of Gondor, I believe you might already have heard of Thorin."

"I have." Boromir bows, as he had not even in introducing himself to the others. "I did not expect ever to meet him." Dwarves have Aüle's halls, after all, and even in death Boromir would not have met Thorin, no matter how greatly he might have wished it be so.

Thorin frowns slightly, though the expression is more thoughtful than upset, tilting his head to Boromir before he turns his attention to Bilbo, walking around him as he speaks. "Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?"

"Pardon me?" Bilbo turns to keep Thorin in his sight, and Boromir shifts slightly, letting his arms fall to his sides.

"Ax or sword, what's your weapon of choice?"

"I do have some skill at conkers, if you must know, but I fail to see why that's relevent."

Thorin's crossed arms and disdainful look are enough for Boromir to snort, drawing attention to him before more words spill from the dwarven King's mouth.

"I have traveled with hobbits, and I would not dismiss their skills merely because they do not chose to defend themselves with blades or arrows." Boromir meets Thorin's gaze readily. "Nor are they slow to learn what they believe they must to keep themselves safe, should they take to the road."

"He still looks more a grocer than a burgler." Thorin smiles, an edge of mockery in his voice, before he turns away, following the others back to the dining room where food is laid out for him.

Boromir doesn't try to regain the seat he had earlier, choosing instead to remain by the door, listening as Balin brings up a meeting of dwarves, the news from which is poor, if not unexpected to Boromir. He does not anticipate the cold feeling in his chest at the idea that Thorin's own cousin would not support him, that other dwarves, save for those gathered in the small dining room, would turn him away when he needed them most. Was that what had left Thorin ill-defended at the end, to fall beneath the crushing blow of an orc?

"You're going on a quest?" Bilbo's voice breaks into Boromir's thoughts, and he returns his attention to the room as Gandalf calls for more light, and brings out a map that shows the mountain they will be traveling to. Portents are mentioned, as is the dragon, spoken aloud at last, though Boromir can see how that shakes Bilbo.

The conversation from there becomes louder and changes to argument until Thorin silences them with a single roared word in a language Boromir does not understand, though he is certain of which it must be.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too?" He turns slightly, side-eyeing Boromir. "Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years."

The dragon had been long dead before Boromir ever heard tales of Erebor and those who retook the mountain from Smaug, but he has not told even Bilbo of the truth of his past. He is not yet ready to tell anyone else, and less so with Gandalf so close, whose fall - and assured death - he had seen himself.

"Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing. Wondering. Weighing the risk."

What risk is there to Boromir, when he has already died, felled by orcs while he defended those he called friend? What more can be done to him by a dragon, or an army of orcs, that has not already been done?

"Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we stand back, while others claim what is rightfully ours?"

Elves, men, and orcs alike will want to take the treasure, and they will not care that they are plundering a kingdom, a home, of a people who are more heroes than most will know. Greedy, Boromir knows dwarves have been called, even by his own people, but he did not remember greed in the tales he heard of Thorin as a child.

"Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"

This is the hero, the King, that Boromir had looked for in Aragorn, the King who would stir even the hearts of those not his kin to fight for him, to fight for his people. A King Boromir can follow without hesitation or regret.

* * *

Boromir makes sure Bilbo is ensconced in his chair before he leaves trying to talk the hobbit into going to Gandalf, seeking out Thorin and Balin instead. Silent for a long moment before he shifts to take a knee, both to avoid looming over them and for respect for Thorin.

"I would offer my sword and skill in aid of your quest, if you would have me. I have no home to return to, nor oaths to conflict with this offer, and neither do I ask for reward in as great a measure as you have offered Mr. Baggins, and alike the rest of your Company."

His bonds were broken with his death, perhaps, and even were they not, Gondor does not need him yet. His father will be no more than a child, as will be Aragorn, and Sauron does not yet reside in Mordor. The greatest threats to the world are the dragon in Erebor, and one small Ring hidden under the Misty Mountains. Both of which he will do his best to counter.

Thorin studies Boromir for a long moment before he speaks. "Why do you care, son of Gondor, what happens to a band of dwarves?"

He could tell Thorin the truth, that he grew up hearing the story of the reclaiming of Erebor from Bofur, and wished fiercely to follow Thorin as a child. That he had fallen defending his friends from overwhelming foes, and bitterly regretted not acknowledging Aragorn as King sooner. Could say he would not be born for another thirty years and more, and that what will happen upon this journey will begin the final years of the Age.

"If I care not for the fate of others, I am no true son of Gondor. We may be the bulwark against Mordor, and any rise of the Enemy there, but what use is defending the walls if there is rot at the heart? I cannot stand by and watch another fall - to shadow or to dragon-fire or slow decay - and still call myself a defender of the West."

There's silence again a moment before Thorin smiles, nodding to Boromir. "Then welcome to my Company, Boromir of Gondor."

"We do not have a contract for a fifteenth member of the Company." Balin is frowning slightly. "I will have to revise the others slightly to account for Boromir's inclusion."

"If I might, Master Balin, I would not wish so great a share of treasure that was not ever mine nor of my people. A simple fee will suffice for myself, enough to take me where I will afterward." Boromir shifts his weight so he can stand once more, leaning against the wall with his head bowed by the curve of the ceiling. "A single chest of gold, no more than my pack-pony can carry beyond supplies, provided a successful outcome to the journey."

"That will certainly be a simpler matter than the re-division of the treasure." Balin studies Boromir for a long moment, a considering expression on his face. "I can have a contract ready before we arrive in Bree, though I will need a day once it is drafted to make out a clean copy."

"Do so." Thorin nods his acceptance of the terms that Boromir would rather, though Boromir expects there will be close inspection of the contract before either of them puts their name to it. It is enough for Boromir that there is verbal agreement for now.

There is nothing more that needs discussing now, when they've not the parchment at hand to work on a contract, and Boromir moves away, finding a place to sit where he can listen to Bilbo and Gandalf. The conversation sounds not to be going well for Gandalf, and Boromir watches as Bilbo walks away from the offer of adventure, to see the world of his books himself, rather than ever living through others.

"It appears we have lost our burglar." Balin's voice comes from where he and Thorin had been earlier, resigned, if not terribly sad. "Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners. Tinkers, toymakers. Hardly the stuff of legend."

Boromir knows they will become legend and more, though he dares not say it.

"There are a few warriors amongst us." Thorin sounds more confident, and Boromir curls his lips in a smile. "And perhaps a little more hope and luck than we imagine."

"Old warriors or untried."

"I would take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills. For when I called upon them, they answered." Boromir can hear Thorin shift. "Loyalty. Honor. A willing heart. I can ask for no more than that." There is a moment's pause. "I would even take the Man of Gondor beside them, though I know him less than those dwarves who follow me, for he offered what few of his kind would bother."

That Balin still tries to talk Thorin from this journey makes Boromir frown, wondering why such a loyal dwarf - and that he remembers well from the tales - would ask such a thing of Thorin. It does nothing to change Thorin's resolve, from the answer given, but it is a curiosity that Boromir knows he will turn over in his mind for a while that evening, even as he hears Balin promise they will see it done.

"You know more than you have told them, Boromir of Gondor." Gandalf is closer than Boromir had thought, and he looks over at the wizard, raising an eyebrow.

"What I have not said is not for you to ask after, Mithrandir." Boromir shakes his head, getting up to move again. "And I will tell those whom I must when I find it needful."

He remains until the dwarves begin to gather themselves to leave - there isn't enough room for them all to remain in Bag End - and takes his own leave of Bilbo.

"Do you intend to come back through the Shire?" Bilbo walks with him from the door to the gate, though it is late enough for most hobbits to be asleep.

"Perhaps, some day, though I don't know how long that might be." Boromir pauses at the gate, smiling at Bilbo. "I shall visit, if I do, so long as I am welcome."

Bilbo's smile is a little distracted, but he nods, and bids Boromir goodnight, and the dwarves who are leaving to take rooms at the Green Dragon.

They're only just out of earshot of Bag End when Nori, with his memorable hair, sidles closer. "Care to wager on the hobbit changing his mind in the morning?"

Glancing down, Boromir contemplates the idea a moment, though he has little coin to spare for wagers. Extra would not be unwelcome, but to wager on Bilbo's decisions? He doesn't recall that being part of the tales, though it is a detail he could readily have forgotten. Too little at stake for his child's mind to remember.

Fishing out his remaining silver from the pouch under his tunic, Boromir smiles a moment. "Bilbo will come. Late, perhaps, but he will come."

If Bilbo doesn't come, there will be greater problems than a pouch of silver lost.


	5. Funeral Arrangements, Stories, and Trouble

"Are there any particular funeral arrangements which you would prefer?" Balin is working at a tablet, stylus incising neat script into the wax as he lays out the clauses of the contract which will be made a clean copy on parchment once they are both satisfied with the wording.

"If I am to die upon this quest, I would have my body set upon the Anduin in a boat, that it may travel south to the Falls of Rauros." Boromir doubts any boat not made by elvish hands will survive Rauros, but he does not worry for that. Only that to be upon the Anduin again will be a fitting end, rather than entombed in stone, be it in Erebor or taken south to Minas Tirith.

Balin nods, making a note in the appropriate place in the tablet. "If that is possible, we shall see it done." He pauses, turning the leaf of the tablet over to where the clauses on the fee are nearly finished. "Do you have any kin you would name to recieve your fee, should you die of wounds after the Mountain has been reclaimed?"

His father is but a child, and neither his mother nor his brother have yet drawn breath. Boromir snorts softly, shaking his head. "I have no living kin who is of an age to take charge of it. Let it be used for rebuilding Dale, should that happen. I will not need it, nor will my living kin."

"As you wish." Balin gives him a curious look, though he doesn't ask any of the questions that might be hiding behind his blandly pleasant expression.

* * *

Boromir learned swiftly as a youth to take what sleep he could, when he could, and it's simple enough to sleep leaning against one of the handful of trees that are close to the outcropping of rock sheltering the camp fire. Howls wake him, and he listens for a moment as Kíli and Fíli try to frighten Bilbo with their claims the howls are orcs - wolves are more likely, and even were they orcs, they would be hard-pressed to get close to camp without waking someone making such a racket.

He opens his eyes when Balin begins to tell a story, one that Boromir did not actually recall, though he expects the tale of Dimrill Dale would have been poor fodder for a child's ears. Death upon death, a king felled and his heir vanished, leaving only a too-young prince to lead his people. The accounts he read when he was older gave only the barest bones of the tale, which digs beneath his ribs with barbs when told by one who had been there.

He had not heard the name of the orc which had killed Thorin, only that the orc had long been Thorin's foe, and hearing it now he mouths it to himself, the better to remember it later. Azog is the one he will do what he might to kill when they encounter him - and he remembers that they will, on the far side of the Misty Mountains, if they do not sooner. If they can kill Azog sooner, there will be one less enemy to kill at the end of the journey.

"The pale orc." Bilbo's voice breaks the silence first, after Balin is done. "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came." Thorin comes stalking back into the main camp as he speaks, his expression closed. "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

Boromir frowns, biting back words to refute that, as it is not knowledge he should have. Not now, not as a Man of Gondor, whose life is spent in defending against such as orcs. Not when Azog has yet to reveal himself as still among the living.

He shifts against the tree he's leaning on, watching the others as they settle back into bedrolls and around the fire to sleep once more.

* * *

"I do not like the look of this place." Boromir isn't entirely certain where the trolls were encountered when first the dwarves took this journey, but the damaged farm house makes him uneasy. It does not have the look of a place that has fallen into disrepair because the inhabitants left of their own accord. "I've seen places like this before, and it's never anything good that drove the farmers or woodsmen from their homes."

"There is no place better to camp tonight, if we are to have a proper camp tonight." Thorin glances over at Boromir as he pulls his pony to a halt. "If it makes you feel any better, you may have the first watch."

"It would make me feel better if we kept the ponies closer than we have been." Boromir lets the reins go slack against Celeg's neck, the horse standing patiently as he slides off. "I shall gladly take the first watch tonight, though. I do not think I will sleep easy."

Thorin snorts, a wry smile crossing his face. "I do not think you have slept well any night you have not taken watch, Master Boromir." He dismounts, handing the reins of his pony to Dwalin. "Fíli, Kíli, take care of the ponies, and keep them close. Don't let the farmhouse out of your sight."

The two princes acknowledge their uncle with nods, and Thorin turns away, calling for a fire to be started as he hikes over to where Gandalf is standing in the middle of the destroyed structure.

"I think it would be wiser to move on." Gandalf's voice carries, and Boromir smiles a little, hearing an echo of his own worries in the wizard's voice.

Moving closer, he listens as Gandalf tries to pursuade Thorin to continue on, closer to Rivendell, and Thorin's stubborn refusal is little surprise. The sharp words concerning the elves, and then the map make Boromir shake his head, though he does not lend Gandalf his own voice in the argument. It was foolish to try to hold anything over Thorin's head.

Turning away, he returns to Celeg, smacking Madge on the nose when she tries to sneak up on the horse around one of the other ponies. "I'll let Master Baggins ride you tomorrow if you keep trying to bite Celeg tonight, Madge." He gives the pony a long look, though how much she cares - if she understands him - he does not know. Certainly not enough to prevent her from making trouble for his horse.

"I'd rather I didn't, she's rather intent on getting close to Celeg every time." Bilbo is stroking Myrtle's nose as he holds her for Balin to take the saddle off. "I suppose that's why you leave her to be led by one of the others most of the time, isn't it?"

"The less chance she has to attempt to annoy Celeg, the less trouble she causes." Boromir smiles at Bilbo, looking up when Gandalf storms past them, muttering about the stubbornness of dwarves.

"Gandalf? Where are you going?" Bilbo looks over at him, than looks at Boromir. "Why is he leaving?"

"I am going to seek out the company of the only one around here who has any sense!" Gandalf doesn't even pause to look back as he speaks.

"And who's that?"

"Myself!" Whatever else Gandalf says is lost as he returns to muttering, but Boromir doubts it's anything he'd particularly want to hear.

"Will he be back?"

"He will return when he wishes, and no sooner." Boromir shakes his head. "I wouldn't expect anything from him tonight, though. We're on our own for now."

Looking back to the farm house, he meets Thorin's gaze for a long moment, shrugging when Thorin raises his eyebrows in silent question. He doesn't know what Thorin wants, but he certainly has no intention of following after Gandalf and bringing the wizard's wrath down on his head instead.

"Come on, Bombur, we're hungry." Thorin shifts his gaze to glare at the retreating back of Gandalf for a long moment, turning away to further inspect the farmhouse, no doubt.

Setting up camp, and making certain the ponies had adequate shelter and grazing room - Boromir takes care to picket Madge and Celeg as far from one another as possible, though leaving Madge near the trees worries him - does not take terribly long, and Boromir marks out a good place to watch the woods from.

"Worried?" Fíli leans against the rocks Boromir has climbed up on, watching him with a small smile on his face.

"Something drove the farmers out, and they are very stubborn folk. More so here, I imagine, than at home. You'd have a burn farmers out of their homes in Ithilien." Too many homes he'd seen destroyed in that manner when making sorties against the Enemy, and he draws a deep breath, shaking his head. "It may be jumping at shadows, for all I know."

"Maybe." Fíli looks out at the trees Boromir is watching. "I hope so. A little battle might be nice, but I don't think Thorin would want anything that might force us aside to Rivendell."

Boromir doesn't have an answer to that, save that it might be unavoidable, and he won't voice that. Not yet. Not until he knows if the trolls will cause them trouble tonight.

* * *

Boromir leaves his bowl to be washed after finishing his portion of stew, and makes his way back up the hill to the stone he'd used as a watch post earlier. Fíli and Kíli are arguing quietly but fiercely, falling silent when they notice him approaching. He looks between them a moment before looking out over the small pasture where the ponies had been grazing when he left, counting them under his breath.

"Madge and Nob are missing." Fíli speaks before he can ask why there are two fewer ponies. "We thought we just didn't notice them sneaking off, but."

"But what?" Boromir frowns, certain of what he's soon to hear, and grimacing when Kíli takes up the narrative, leading him to where there's a recently uprooted tree near the edge of the woods.

"We think it might be a troll. Only thing that might make that much of a mess." Kíli glances at him. "Unless you know of anything else?"

"Not this far north." Boromir sighs, and reaches for the lead-rope for the ponies now nearest the wood. "Kíli, go tell Thorin we have a problem. Fíli, help me move the ponies further away from the woods. Trolls will have a harder time stealing them if there's nothing to hide them while they sneak up."

They've moved only three of the ponies when the troll comes back for more, forcing them to hide behind the watch-post rock. No matter how brave or skilled, Boromir would rather not pit only two of them against a troll. It's crashing away through the trees when Kíli returns, trailing Thorin and Dwalin and Bilbo.

"Trolls." Boromir doesn't waste words, gesturing briefly at the damage which would no doubt be more impressive in daylight. "We've lost four ponies to them already."

And can't afford that loss, he doesn't say, but he can see that same knowledge in Thorin's eyes. Fighting a troll is not impossible, with a large enough group, but it's difficult. More so when there's room enough for the creature to move, and no chain to grab to check its movements. And two others to aid it, though he cannot be seen to know that yet.

"Have you any experience in fighting trolls, Master Boromir?" Thorin is studying the destruction left by the troll, though he looks to Boromir when he asks the question. "Or are you lucky enough that Gondor has not faced them?"

"I have not fought many, for they cannot come out in sunlight, and the one that I have done most recently was a cave troll - smaller than this one, and chained by orcs to better allow them to lead it where they would unleash it." He grimaces, shaking his head. "I had companions then, and we barely held our own in that fight."

"You had men." Thorin's lips quirk up in a smile a moment. "Not dwarves."

Boromir doesn't correct his misapprehension; Gimli had been only one dwarf, and had accounted himself well for that fight, and the running battle later. Perhaps having more to lend aid will prove different, especially since they will not send Bilbo in. He hopes.

"It should be short work to dispatch the troll." Dwalin is looking at the uprooted tree, and the trail of destruction beyond it with a glee that more than matches what Boromir remembers of Gimli's. A little worrisome, but a welcome confidence. "Even with just six of us."

"Oh, no. No no no." Bilbo shakes his head. "I am not a fighter, Mr. Dwalin." He grimaces, glancing at the same destruction with a worried frown. "I might do better freeing the stolen ponies while you dispatch the troll."

Boromir can hear a note of uncertainty in the hobbit's voice, and he moves closer, resting a hand on Bilbo's shoulder a moment. "You have the knives I gave you?"

Bilbo makes a face at him, but pats the sheath that is on his belt, for all that he has a professed distaste for carrying it. "Only because it's dark, and I'm not in the camp proper, mind you."

"So long as you have it." Boromir looks at the woods a long moment. "Perhaps it might be better to have some of the others along, as well. With a troll nearby, there's unlikely to be bandits to raid the camp while we're busy."

"Still, a watch will be kept. For our wayward wizard, if nothing else." Thorin glances over at Dwalin, nodding, and the bald warrior heads back for the camp fire to arrange the watch and to bring the rest with them. With all but Ori and Óin, it's a larger group than the Fellowship had been, but they will have more to fight than a single Moria cave-troll and a small horde of goblins.


	6. Out of the Fire and Over the River

Boromir winces as the spit turns him to face the flames again, trying to think of how he might have mentioned there were more trolls than the one without someone being suspicious of what he knew. Whether it would have ended better than this, he's not certain, but at the moment, he could but wish it might have.

"Do you even know how to cook?"

He turns his head to watch Bilbo as the hobbit struggles to his feet, at least until the spit turns Boromir where he cannot see for a long count. Listening instead as Bilbo critiques the trolls' chosen cooking method, though the suggestions to change make Boromir wince.

"How would you know how to cook dwarf? Do burglerobbits cook them often?"

"No, nor men either, but I can't imagine you're doing too well, either." Bilbo is pale as the stone of Minas Tirith, but still giving the trolls an impressive glare when Boromir is turned to see him again. "You didn't even check them for parasites before you popped them on the spit!"

"What?" "I don't have parasites!" "YOU have parasites!" "I'll gut you for this!"

Boromir grimaces, and closes his eyes as the flames come closer again, keeping his mouth firmly shut on any negation of Bilbo's plan. Waiting until he's away from the heat before he draws a deep breath, calling into the cacophany, "Soldiers have to take a draught against parasites every month. I haven't had one in nearly a year."

It brings the trolls attention to him, and Boromir bares his teeth in a mockery of a smile, daring them to take the chance. To refute his unspoken claim of parasites, as Bilbo was saying they all had. They only needed to have them distracted until the sun came into the clearing.

"Don't listen to them! They're taking us for fools!" One of the trolls shakes his head, reaching for Boromir.

"The dawn will take you all!"

Gandalf's voice has never been more welcome, and Boromir closes his eyes again as he hears rock crack, and light floods the clearing. Now, all he needs is to be off the blasted spit, and to gather his things once more before anyone can poke too much about them.

It takes several minutes for those of them bound to the spit to be freed, though the fire beneath them is at least quickly doused. Boromir rubs at his wrists a moment as he stands, making sure he's steady on his feet before he heads for the pile of clothing and gear that had been made as they'd all been stripped down to tunics and trews.

Fíli is pulling his collection of knives from the pile of weapons, and he glances over when Boromir comes close, tilting his head toward a smaller pile. "I thought you'd like not having to dig through the rest of the clothes for yours, and they were easy to find." He is quiet a long moment while Boromir dresses, and he continues to sort the weapons. "You didn't mention you were on good terms with elves."

The words come as Boromir is fastening his cloak - using the cloak pin which had been gifted with the cloak given in Lothlorien. He watches Fíli for a long moment. "It was not a gift particular to me, but to all those I traveled with at the time."

Glancing up at Boromir as he puts a knife into his boot, Fíli raises his eyebrows. "I didn't expect you to admit it."

Boromir shrugs, reaching down to untangle his sword belt from the rest of the weapons. "It is one of the few good things from those last weeks of the journey. I have no reason to be rid of it, nor to deny from whence it came."

"But nor any reason to speak of it." Fíli nods, pulling his own twin swords from the pile, and moving away as Dwalin and Thorin come over to gather their own things. "I would like to hear the tale of it some time, if you will."

"Perhaps someday, but not soon, I think." Buckling on his sword, Boromir heads for the camp, hoping that perhaps the ponies might still be there. Celeg, even if none of the rest are still there, for the elven-bred horse is less likely to startle than most, save perhaps the Mearas of Rohan.

He finds Ori and Óin trying to pack as much of the camp as possible on two of the ponies, neither of which seem to be inclined to move far enough from Celeg to be saddled, much less have packs arranged on those saddles.

"Collect personal belongings, leave the rest." Boromir approaches the nearer pony carefully as Ori gives him a grateful look for the instruction. "Where trolls are willing to live, other foul things will be as well, and I'd rather be already moving if any make their presence known."

Óin harumphs, but doesn't say anything, just keeps working at what he had been packing. Boromir doesn't remember much about him from the stories he was told as a child, and hopes Óin isn't terribly upset about having to abandon the camp gear.

The first howl sends a chill down Boromir's spine, and he has to tighten his grip on the harness of the pony he'd grabbed, though it does nothing to stop the other one bolting. He's glad Celeg is steady, if wide-eyed with fear.

"Let her go, laddie!" Óin slings a pack on his back, as Ori grabs the other one Óin had packed. "Best to keep that horse of yours, if he doesn't bolt at the sound of wargs."

Boromir grimaces, but nods, jumping back as he lets go of the pony, letting her bolt after her herd-mate before he reaches for Celeg. The horse rolls his eyes at Boromir, but doesn't bolt as he swings up onto Celeg's back. He wishes for a moment that he had one of the lances the Rohirrim carry, to better hunt the wargs that are howling again.

"I'll draw the attention of the wargs, you join the others." Boromir gives Óin and Ori a grim smile, the familiar feel of a battle rising in him. Fighting is what he knows best, and though this may be as much running as fighting, it is close enough to remind him of the feel of such.

"Meet us at the pass, if you can." Óin gives him a long look, before turning away, hurrying after Ori in the direction Boromir had come, while Boromir listens for more howls of wargs, following them away from the patch of woodland the trolls had called home.

His hand drops to his horn a moment, thinking of the attention such would draw, for good and ill. But he cannot risk Gandalf recognizing it for what it is when he sounds it, not here and now. It is far too soon to reveal so much to the wizard when he hasn't spoken of his past to the dwarves. Has not told Thorin the truth of what he knows of the quest, especially not when he does not know what might change with him riding with the dwarves.

And cannot tell them now, when he does not even know how merely this encounter will play out.

Boromir turns his head toward the distant howls of the wargs, nudging Celeg with his knees when the horse hesitates, feeling the reluctance to ride into danger rather than away.

"We cannot risk the others simply for our own sakes, Celeg." Boromir rubs Celeg's shoulder gently before he nudges him into a canter. They will gallop soon enough, and Boromir will need all his attention to stay ahorse. "When they have caught our scent, you may run to keep ahead of them as you will. But we must keep them from the rest of the Company."

Celeg snorts, but does as he's asked, drawing closer and closer to the wargs, who appear to already have a target in their sights - a rabbit-drawn conveyance with a whooping man in ragged robes clinging to the back.

Boromir doesn't know what to make of them, but the presence of another will make this easier. Two to split the attention of the warg pack, and Thorin and the Company can escape to safety, wherever they may find it.

He reins Celeg in, waiting for the wargs to get closer before he lets out a whoop of his own, wheeling Celeg to take a diverging route from that of the madman with the giant rabbits, drawing several wargs to follow him instead.

"As fast as you may on this ground, Celeg." Boromir lets the reins fall slack, gripping tight to Celeg's barrel with his knees. The horse springs to follow his command and the pressing of his own instincts, galloping across the rolling moors with wargs baying at their heels.

They can't have gone more than a mile before Boromir hears horns, clear and bright, announcing the arrival of others to the chase. Elves, by their armor, a company which splits around Boromir to ride down the wargs and orcs turning to flee. He draws Celeg down to a canter, though he cannot convince the horse to turn, even with others between them and the wargs, nor to slow further to a walk.

Instead, he is taken where the horse will, down into a river valley that it takes a long moment for Boromir to recognize as the way he had come only months before, and years yet to come. Only when they've splashed across the Bruinen can he slow Celeg to a walk, though he lets the horse pick their way to one of the courtyards of Imladris, glad to dismount as a trio of elves come toward him.

"I have ridden far, and been parted from my companions by wargs." Boromir falls into familiar Sindarin, keeping a grip on Celeg's reins for a moment. "I do not know if they might have come here, or if they have skirted Imladris in favor of the High Pass, but I would ask if there might be aid to be asked that I might rejoin them soon."

"You should rest." One of the elves, who seems to have charge of the other two, comes forward first. "We may see to Celeg, and Eirwyn will take you to speak with Lindir, who is Lord Elrond's seneschal. He may be able to provide you with aid to locate your companions."

"My thanks." Boromir smiles slightly, tilting his head before he lets the one elf take Celeg's reins from him. The other beckons him to follow, leading him through halls both familiar and not, until they reach a small office, where a dark-haired elf is standing staring almost blankly at the desk inside.

"Master Lindir?" Eirwyn bows their head when the other turns, gesturing slightly toward Boromir. "He came through the gate from the Ford, and I was commanded to bring him to you."

Lindir looks at Boromir, frowning slightly. "Might I ask your name?"

"I am Boromir of Gondor." Boromir pauses, giving Lindir as polite a smile as he can muster. "I was parted from my traveling companions by wargs. I drew them off after the ponies the others rode bolted, since I had the better chance to avoid a swift death."

"You're the rider Lord Elrond spoke of!" Lindir smiles, the expression more harried than cheerful, and waves Eirwyn away, reaching out to grab Boromir by the arm a moment, turning him down a hall before snatching his hand back as if he'd suddenly remembered how rude it might be taken as. "Please. Lord Elrond wished to speak with you, and dinner shall be soon. We should have clean clothing suited to fit you, if you wish to change."

It would be rude to turn down such an offer, and Boromir lets Lindir hurry him toward guest rooms, other elves summoned and sent darting on errands as they go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have not quite reached the end of what is posted on tumblr, but what yet remains is not yet a chapter's worth of story, so I will hold onto it until it is ready for posting.

**Author's Note:**

> This began as a distraction fic for Flamethrower, inspired by a combination of a tumblr post, a tumblr ask, and Valandhir's absolutely fantastic [The Raven's Blade](https://archiveofourown.org/series/36072). I hope y'all enjoy what I have, and I will continue this as I can, though no promises about any kind of schedule.


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